You look stressed, Arthur
by SilvertoLead
Summary: Arthur likes working. Eames likes sex. Apparently, the fact that the two have never had sex before, won't stop him.
1. Part 1

When it happened, Arthur hadn't been in control of anything.

Maybe that's why he'd let it happen so _easily._

It had been late in the day; the sun had long since set across the city-scape of Dubai; and he was supposed to be typing up a fake email to close off their day of success. Himself, Cobb, Ariadne, and, most importantly, Eames, had been involving themselves in an important task of extraction.

The day had gone smoothly, Arthur's pre-planning, perfect; as ever; and he'd been pleased with his success.

So, apparently, was Eames.

At around eleven o'clock at night, he'd found himself, back down on the sheets of the expensive hotel bed, being roughly taken by the Forger.

By _Eames._

He was so shocked by the fact that it was, in fact, the strongly built, egotistical British man, he was letting use him like this, that he genuinely could not abstain from cursing himself at the situation he'd stumbled haplessly into.

But it always came out as more of a strangled, pleasured moan, oppose to an aggressive bout of swearing.

Not to say he wasn't swearing _anyway_.

It had gone like this. As far as he could remember.

Thin fingers danced atop the Macbook's keyboard, lips pursed with concentration on the glowering screen. It had only been a short report; but it was something Arthur was ensuring to get finished. His specific persona of the day; Louis Barker; had to send this email. It was all very complex, and couldn't exactly be summed up in such short words.  
In a more helpful sentence, Arthur was importantly busy with it, and busying himself with nothing else aside from listening to some track by Brian Crain through white, in ear headphones.

That is, until his hotel room door had been discreetly opened, half silent, and closed, without even his knowing.

Half silent footsteps carried the Forger through the room. Eames found it somewhat amusing that Arthur was still, _still_, in his full suit. Well; aside from the grey jacket. Initially, he had come simply to annoy the Point man; as he so often enjoyed doing.

_Initially_.

When the Forger finally stopped, he leaned against a protruding wall in the room, arms folding across his chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his full lips as he watched the younger man type furiously.

Oh, he couldn't resist himself.

Glancing around, he hunted for something he could throw at him; finding a pen next to his bed; and silently, picking it up, moving back across;

"Ah-"

A stunned Point man whirled around in his seat, and upon sighting the Forger, leaped in his seat with a strangled yelp, earphones flying out.

"What the Hell, Eames?!"

"For fun. Your expression was priceless, darling."

Damn that childish man, as he stood there, laughing shamelessly.

Nostrils flaring, Arthur bit the inside of his cheek sharply, just to give him something to bite. He was suitably angry about Eames' trespassing; but he also wanted to know what it was entailing.

"What do you want? I'm busy."

Eames had slowed laughing at this point, though that triumphant smirk still hatefully remained. A shrug passed his shoulders.

"I wanted to see what the wonderful and majestic Arthur does after jobs."

"You already know what I do after jobs."

"Well, I wanted to know more. And hopefully be a part of that."

Brows furrowing at the slightly rough-looking British man; he wasn't drunk, was he?; Arthur paused the music with a swift keypress, and leaned against the black glass desk. "I wouldn't want you to be a part of my relaxing time."

"Relaxing time?" he repeated, laughing again, feet carrying him just a little closer to the Point man, who could only look on with confusion. "I should have known. Silly me. You _never_ stop working."

"No, I don't. Now, if you don't mind, I want to get this fini-"

"You look stressed, Arthur."

"shed-… what?"

Now that got the point man looking a little worried. He batted Eames' words away with his hand, disappearing to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Well-… he wasn't wrong.

Hair slightly out of place, and messed at the back from where Arthur had been unable to see it head on and keep track of it's appearance, eyes somewhat bloodshot, Arthur did have a slight look about him. Eames had followed, and was standing in the door frame, a hand gripping the other side casually.

"I'm not stressed," he assured the other man, turning to face him, and stepping toward the door, in a bid to make Eames move; to which, to Arthur's surprise, he did not.

He was still smirking.

"What are you smiling at?"

"You."

"Eames, I don't have time for this. I'm busy as fuck, and I don't care how bored you are. Go get drunk or something. Get out my way."

"I'd like to see you make me, darling."

Mouth open to respond, Arthur found, for the first time, no words. He had no response to that; and Eames was just gobbling that fact up. So much so that he took a step in; closer to the younger man; forcing Arthur to take one conscious step back.

"I will shoot you."

"For what? Being senselessly depraved of entertainment? Oh, Arthur, you know you couldn't ever shoot me." He was _still_ smirking. "Is it so wrong to want to sate myself?"

If Arthur's scowl could develop anymore, it just did, in this moment, and he stepped backward again. What did Eames mean? What was he even talking about? Arthur was beginning to lose his grip on control; and he knew it.

He wouldn't give it up without a fight, however.

"That depends on how you want to 'sate' yourself," he said, tightly, completely unamused by that obvious reference, and completely missing Eames' _actual_ reference.

It was enough to make Eames laugh at him again. Because he was so obviously out of control here; and Arthur hated being out of control. The Forger advanced a step.

"There are so many ways to do it, really," he mused aloud, one hand sitting on his hip, the other by his side. An eyebrow raise, sent toward the Point man, continued to attempt to make his intention obvious; but Arthur; Eames was convinced; was being deliberately naïve.

"I could do it myself, or I could have someone help me. It's always better to have a _helping hand_."

Arthur stared him down; but he still refused to understand the implied meaning. "What do you need help with?"

"Well," Eames sighed, stepping twice toward Arthur; forcing him to step back; the back of his waist coming into surprised contact with the bathroom counter. Half confused, half nervous, a hand gripped at it for stability.

"I'm horny, and you're cute. I think we should have sex."

That sentence was so blunt even naïve Arthur couldn't ignore it; and when it aired; his eyebrows shot skyward, his jaw dropping.

Unfortunately for Arthur, in the time of his lips parting with shock; Eames had already swooped in; their lips colliding together.

Where Eames closed his eyes immediately, Arthur was still stood, shocked beyond recognition at the sudden turn of events, and despite the large man, half pinning him against the bathroom sink, he just- _just-_ managed to push Eames away.

"What the fuck, Eames?!" he retorted, slipping to the side with haste; though he was clumsy, at that moment, and very, very nearly, stumbled. Instead, he put as much distance between himself and the grinning Forger as possible. "Are you fucking high, or something?!"

"I can be if you'd like that, darling," he purred, only stalking after the retreating Point man, eyes full of intent. "Whatever you're into."

"N-… no! I'm not going to-… have-… sex-… with you!" he could barely even talk. Because he could still feel Eames' lips against his own. Those full, full lips; pressing with arousal and haste against his own; Arthur couldn't get that sensation out his head. He was lost to it. That was obvious.

It's not that he enjoyed it; it's that he-  
… okay, yes, he enjoyed it. But only a _little._

"Alright, then."

Wait.

What?

"-… -what?"

Eames' entire demeanour had changed. He no longer looked lustful. He just looked tired. Bored, almost. "Alright. I'll leave you alone. Your wish is my command."

With that, the Forger had turned, and was making his way out.

"I-… Eames, w-…"

And he's stopped.

_Well, what do you want to say?_

"Ah-… wait. Just a second."

"What for, Arthur darling? I'm busy."

Oh. That's his game. Arthur could hardly abstain from the frustrated growl that passed him consciously.

_Those lips, though. Imagine those lips on your neck. On your chest. Your… abdomen. Your…_

_No. No way are you thinking about Eames kissing you there. No fucking way. This isn't okay._

God, he wanted to know what that would be like now, though.

No. No he didn't.

Oh, but he did.

_Stop it._

"Arthur? You were saying?"

Shit.

"What I was saying, what I wanted to say, was… why me? There's plenty of other-"

Eames had turned around, at this point, and had begun advancing again. "No one compares to _you,_ Arthur."

That sentence was so ridiculously _romantic,_ for some reason, that when Eames kissed him again; Arthur didn't even protest.

Didn't push him away, either.

Both sets of shamefully lust filled eyes closed, and for once in Arthur's life; he legitimately thought;

_Fuck it._


	2. Part 2 -NSFW-

Is he going to regret this? Most likely.

Does he care, right now?

Not in the slightest.

As long as those large, thickly set hands of Eames', remain plastered to his body, he'll probably _never_ care.

In the heat of the moment, Arthur had very nearly stumbled when Eames finally kissed him again. It felt as though the kiss; the heavily-laden-with-lust-lips, that were pressed forcefully against one another; was not simply connecting them; but was releasing what felt like a lifetime of deeply sated sexual tension. Which it, without a shadow of doubt, _was_ doing.

But Eames had grip on his waist; and he was going _nowhere_.

Almost on a subconscious level, what with Arthur's mind a blur of confliction right now, his arms lifted; coiling tightly around Eames' neck, and he kissed back with the same level of force. That much surprised Eames, actually.

The Forger had been more than sure he'd need to coax Arthur into his stride.

What he didn't know, of course, was Arthur's clear, and now, obvious, attraction to him.

Lips parted, now, the two hungrily fought one another for dominance. Arthur did so without knowing, really; Eames, simply because he couldn't help it. When the Forger's tongue slipped past his teeth, delving toward the warm, wholly open cavity of Arthur's mouth, the Point man's next exhale was accented with pleasure.

Eames tasted like salted caramel and fading alcohol and cigar smoke. He was, without shadow of doubt; all things Arthur had expected, should they ever have kissed like this. And Arthur was, slowly, being intoxicated by it.

Arthur, tasted like mint; crisp, like morning air. Eames likened it to the first chill of winter; the first hitching of breath to steam, caught in cold, cold air, that froze water and froze life. Eames had expected it to be pleasant; and pleasant, it was.

The two contrasted each other, perfectly.

One large hand, dug it's nails in Arthur's waist, just a little bit; enough to make the Point man give another deliciously audible exhale; and Eames found he needed to hear more of them. They were sending heat south; and the pressure was mounting.

While his hand dug into Arthur's clothed skin, the other moved forward, to find the buttons on Arthur's shirt, hastily attempting to unfasten them. Meanwhile, Arthur was so shocked by his _own_ reaction; that he could scarcely _move_.

Eames pulled his lips away, for a moment; much to Arthur's displeasure; but only to skim them across the nape of his neck while he attempted those buttons; with both hands, now; and it took him one more second to get his shirt off. The tie had to come off too. Skilled, thieves hands, didn't stop there.

As much as he liked goggling Arthur while he was clothed; he decided, it was time to goggle him naked.

As this went on, Arthur was trying blindly to remove Eames' clothes; deaf with arousal; which, slowly, was becoming obvious to the Forger; who could only be extremely flattered.

"Pleased to see me, darling?" he purred, voice flooded with lust and accent. It sent chills down Arthur's spine; and he wouldn't ever admit it aroused him all the more; but it did.

"Shut up, Eames," the point man could only growl. But it sounded more like 'Fuck me, Eames', anyway.

Eames _could only __**oblige**__._

Before Arthur could say anything more, he found, he was being roughly tossed on the hotel bed; the springs in the mattress flying him up an inch, then back down. Eames stalked after him, resembling some kind of predator, homing in on it's prey, and when he knelt by the side of the bed; Arthur swore he took a photo of that image in his mind.

Just the picture, of Eames; strong, smug Eames; on his knees before him;

Fuck.

Those hands of Eames' got Arthur's trousers off in an instant. Arthur hadn't been so successful with Eames' clothes, but the Forger didn't exactly care so much.

It wasn't about him, anymore. It wasn't about finding pleasure.

It was about finding Arthur's pleasure.

And Eames knew it.

He wouldn't have their first time any other way.

Tugging the Point man closer, by his hips, did Eames' hands take hold of his ass; spurring an angelic purr to escape the Point man; and all the more did he lament his pleasure, when Eames began mouthing his navel.

"Fuck, Eames," he found himself half-whining. He'd kick himself for that later; but then, wouldn't he be kicking himself for the whole sordid thing?

Arthur wasn't going to deny this was arousing as fuck, though. That much was clear.

He couldn't contain the surprised little moan, however, when Eames suddenly was kissing, mouthing, and rubbing, at Arthur's boxer clad erection.

Eames was given a blissful head toss backward from the Point man, and it was just such an arousing sight to him that his own erection was starting to need attention. Patience, he told himself.

The stability Arthur felt in Eames' hands made it completely okay for him to start becoming aware of his rapidly increasing heart rate and shivering-with-pleasure body. He was so taken by the whole moment that he couldn't think straight. He could ponder that later, however, because Eames had just let him go; removed his lips; and quite suddenly, Arthur was naked.

No, no, you're not feeling self-conscious.

A self-conscious Arthur shrank in a little, because Eames was still wearing his clothes; and being naked around Eames was just a concept he was conscious about. Of course he was.

Eames noticed.

"Oh, love," he purred, and it was actually half-reassuring, for some reason; his eyes filled with adoration at the Point man. "Patience."

Arthur hated that. 'Patience'. Fuck you, Eames.

He should hate it when Eames talks so patronizingly to him. Instead, he loves it.

Quite slowly, the Forger rid himself of his clothes, letting them fall aside, and Arthur watched every movement with a lust poisoned hunger. It felt a lot better, now Eames was naked as well.

And the Forger climbed back over him, hands holding him up, lips attacking the others, the sound of their rushed breaths and the collision of skin filling the otherwise silent hotel room.

God, is that Eames' cock? Brushing against his own-

Fuck, that's hot, and Arthur can't contain his thoughts on that subject matter. Before he can manage that, Eames starts-… oh, fuck, he's rutting against him.

Heat washes through his already too-hot body, and he's not satisfied with just that. He needs more of it.

"Ea-… Eames… you-… inside me…"

He's already on the case. Thanks to these hotels being absolutely fucking conveniently wonderful, there's some complementary condoms and lubricant in the bottom drawer at the back in a little wooden box of the bedside table. Eames had departed him momentarily to hunt frantically for it; half ripping the drawer from it's hinges; and when he gets his hands on the prodigal items, he shares a ridiculously lust driven look with Arthur.

Arthur did not smirk back.

Nope. Not at all.

Eames takes a second to squirt lubricant in the palm of his hand, and, rubbing both hands together, he gets it all over his fingers. Arthur wonders why, for a second.

Until he thus far realizes, that Eames' cock is going to need to fit into his ass.

How?!

Eames seems to know what he's doing, however, as he sits back upward, slick fingers suddenly teasing at the rim of Arthur's entrance.

Giving another surprised moan, Arthur's head rolls backward, and he bucks his hips upward; but Eames pushes them down again, steadying him; as, gently, he slides a finger upward; enveloping it in Arthur's tight warmth.

The intrusion is so foreign to Arthur that he doesn't know what to make of it. It feels… odd. Not necessarily a bad odd, but he can't feel the good of it just yet. Still; for some reason, it's ridiculously erotic. Eames is that to hold him still and reassure him through it, however; and to tell him to stop clenching his muscles, when he can't help but start.

"Look at you," he says, suddenly. Oh, Eames, please don't start talking.

"All sprawled out and messy for me."

"Shut-… up."

"Would you like to shut me up, Arthur?" he asks, voice a constant seduction technique, and his fingers moving inside Arthur; knuckle deep; and it makes him lose his grip on conversation again, as the point man moans.

"I've wanted to do things like this to you for so long, Arthur," Eames purrs, and Arthur won't even look at him. He's just focusing on the exact part of his body Eames is inside; and nothing else.

"You are so… so _beautiful_, like this."

He's adding another finger to the mix, as Arthur begins to open up; and Arthur's moaning, still, unable to help clenching a little more. The concept; the thought itself; Eames, fingering him; god, he's unable to contain each throb of his aching member.

"I've dreamed about you, Arthur," Eames confesses, breathless, as he begins scissoring his fingers, softly; and it's true. "I've dreamed about fucking you senselessly."

Arthur will not ever, _**ever**_, admit that he blushed a deep crimson.

"And now I get to sate that," he purrs. Eames sounds almost impatient, now. He's impatient to get some attention down south; as Arthur's laboured breaths and full moans make him throb with need. "I almost feel greedy."

Because Arthur's not completely loosened yet, Eames leans forward; pressing his lips to the head of Arthur's erection.

"Fuck-" Arthur gasps, hips sharply jolting; the skin hyper-sensitive. "God-… Eames-"

While Eames tongues the slit, his fingers feel him loosen up sufficiently.

And he pulls back.

"Oh," Eames half moans. "You're ready, aren't you?"

Arthur just nods sharply. He's as impatient as Eames is, and Eames knows it.

Sitting up, fingers freeing themselves; Arthur whining at the sudden emptiness; Eames moves him back a little, on the bed, and crawls after. Slick hands squirt lubricant on his palm again, and Eames proceeds to coat himself. He's quite sizeable, is Eames; naturally; and Arthur's still worried it's not going to fit.

He doesn't even care for the mess when Eames takes hold of his legs, lifting them, and he locks his feet behind Eames' waist, as the Forger positions himself.

"Ready?" he asks, momentarily concerned.

"Just hurry up and fuck me, Eames, for God's fucking sake-"

He didn't need telling twice by the angry Arthur; and slides in. The movements so fluid and straining on Arthur's entrance that both men lose their breaths at the movement. For a moment, Eames is steady; breath almost held in anticipation as he slides, slowly, in.

It's painful, at first. Eames' cock is a lot different to his fingers. Arthur has to take a while to control his breathing; relax himself, stop those muscles from clenching; and he grips on the bed sheets for dear life. He's panting heavily, and the pain forces his cock to soften just a little.

Eames notices the pain, of course, and he suddenly feels bad. He doesn't want Arthur in pain. At all.

"Shh, love," the man reassures him, one hand on Arthur's hips, the other moving upward, to stroke the side of Arthur's neck, his collarbone, his chest; sitting atop where his heart beats frantically. "You're doing so well. So beautifully."

Arthur's spellbound by Eames' softness. He'll take that to the grave with him.

After a few moments of quiet, by in which, Eames has leaned down, to kiss and nuzzle at Arthur's neck, the Point man stops him.

"You wanted to fuck me," Arthur growls. "So fuck me."

Softness aside; Eames gives one of the most devilish smirks Arthur's ever seen; to which, he swears he hardens just a fraction more; and if he hasn't hardened again anyway; Eames is leaving him; no, where are-

When Eames thrusts back in, he gives a deeply pleasured sigh, and Arthur moans.

"Oh, you're such a good boy, Arth-"

"Shut up for God's-"

Both men are cut off by the other, and Eames begins rolling his hips, backward, and forward; his rhythm torturously good. Every thrust inward sends Arthur's senses wild. Eames just keeps brushing his prostate, as well, and it's sheer, raw, unbridled, basic, pleasure. He has _no_ _**control**_ here.

He's moaning like a whore, and Eames is too.

Eames has, surprisingly, nothing more to say. He's far too aroused by the sight beneath him; by Arthur; perfectly dressed, presentable, in-control Arthur; unwinding, relaxing, in a ball of pleasure beneath him. Sweating and moaning and all demanding.

Eames quickens just at the fucking thought; let alone the sight.

As for Arthur;

Arthur's just irrevocably angry it's Eames he's letting fuck him into the mattress. As well as that; Eames is a man. That's obvious. He had no idea he could be attracted to a man. It's so new to him; and there's something so intensely dirty about that he can't help but moan for him.

The whole bed's rocking, as both men groan shamelessly, and it's when Eames starts stroking Arthur's erection; it's then, that Arthur loses it.

He can't go back now. His body's on this road, and he travels swiftly down to the destination. And suddenly, it's too much. His body's clenching, his vision blurred by coloured spots; and a wave of absolute, perfect pleasure; washes straight through him, as he climaxes. He splits out a ridiculously high moan; gasping out his partner's name; gripping the sheets and not even noticing how his come pools on his chest.

That's enough for Eames, and he thrusts forward, coming deep within Arthur. The hot fluid can only fill the Point man up all the more; and he rides out his orgasm, with a few, final, erratic thrusts.

When he's finally spent, he stops, and as he pants heavily, he almost collapses on Arthur; who's just as spent and finished as he is.

The two men take a minute at least to relax, muscles calming, bodies stilling.

That's when Arthur shoves Eames off him, and leaps away; the emptiness Eames leaves, making him gasp a little in pain; and he half runs to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Eames can only roll onto his back, however, still breathing heavily, as Arthur takes a second to sum up what he's just done.

Or, rather, who.

The shower's on in an instant, and Arthur leaps in, desperately scrubbing his body down of fluid and of Eames' influence.

It's not enough to keep Eames away, however; as the door reopens; closes again; and Eames slips in the shower next to him. Arthur nearly hits him.

"Get out."

"Arthur, it's alrigh-"

"It's not fucking alright! None of this is alright, Eames! We-… we had-… we can't have done that! We-"

"I know, I know it's difficult to get your head around right now, Arthur, I know, but it happened, so just be quiet, for two seconds, will you?"

Arthur has nothing more to say, but he feels like slapping him. Instead, he sighs, looking torn. He looks like he might burst into tears. Eames is on the case, however, and muscular arms quickly gather Arthur into a hug, under the shower head.

At first, Arthur struggles.

He gives up.

Just as before, he lets Eames take him like this.

"What the fuck are we gonna do?" he half whispers. Eames doesn't know why he feels so attached to Arthur, even before now; but he strokes the other man's hair, soothingly.

"What we always do," Eames responds with.

"Keep moving."


End file.
